April 28, 2002
By ELIZA GRISWOLD
The New York Times Sunday Magazine
Tiny has always been just that. He's 14 years old and about four feet tall. His gray Levi's hang off him despite the belt he wears wrapped around his waist twice. He looks about 8, and no one would suspect him of inflicting harm. That's one of the reasons Tiny -- as his street name is translated -- makes an effective assassin.
I met Tiny one afternoon not long ago in Medellín, Colombia. He strutted up to me on the street and stood on his toes to kiss my cheek. Then he handed me two warm Chiclets. I had come to Colombia to report on a legal loophole in its Minor's Code that allows kids under 18 to kill without being held responsible. After weeks of trying to persuade gang bosses to let me spend time with their young charges, I was finally introduced to Tiny, who told me his story over the next six weeks.
Tiny has carried out most of his hits with his best friend, El Raton, ''the mouse.'' They have been best friends for as long as they can remember. ''We say 'cousins' because we're always hanging around each other,'' Tiny said. Neither one goes to school anymore. Now they are partners. One early evening, as we sat in the courtyard of the house that belongs to a one-legged man who cooks for the boys, they recounted to me a murder and robbery they had done last year.
At the northeast edge of Medellín, Tiny and El Raton told me that they climbed into a Renault 4 taxi. The boys knew the driver; they usually hire him for work. Following their bosses' instructions, they gave the driver the address of a bank in the city center where they expected to find their target: a businessman who had already been pointed out by the man who paid for the hit. ''We had everything planned,'' Tiny said. ''We'd been following him, so we were right behind him every step.''
Tiny keeps his hands in his pockets when he works, because they shake. It's not nerves, but a snort of cocaine and four milligrams of clonazepam, an anti-anxiety medication, that make it hard for him to sit still. (They call clonazepam ''Roche'' because that's the name of the pharmaceutical company stamped on the silver backing.) He keeps a loaded gun down the front of his pants: a .38 Special, which the boys call an ''8.''
The businessman stepped out of the bank carrying a briefcase in his right hand. At first, Tiny said, they followed half a block behind and then grabbed him. ''He started making a scene and going, like, 'No, no, no,''' El Raton said, opening his eyes wide. ''Me and my little cousin caught him and shot him in the back of the head.'' Then, Tiny said, they grabbed the briefcase and got into the taxi. They had been promised $300 each to kill the man and steal his briefcase. They didn't even count the cash in the case nor what they were paid. Only later did they realize that they had made only $25 each.
To read more of this story go to http://www.nytimes.com/2002/04/28/magazine/28COLOMBIA.html?ex=1021097489&ei=1&en=e887bb767395ba04
Please keep the members of the delegation, Justapaz, Witness for Peace and the "Tiny's" of Colombia who know of nothing else in your prayers.
God of hope, we pray for Colombians suffering from the violence in their country. Thank you for the inspiring work of peacemakers and may their efforts be multiplied. Amen.
